Guilt: A Gauge of the Soul (#12)

It was a Friday afternoon and I was running late, as per usual, to meet my best friend at our favorite bar.  With an espresso martini already waiting for me, I plopped onto the barstool.  I was beyond elated to be here after such a busy week, not to mention, I hadn’t seen my girl in what seemed like an eternity.  Our lives were changing so rapidly, I was afraid we’d soon be strangers. How silly, though, because our conversation and laughter echoed a friendship that was from many lives and not just this one.

Dedicated to Maya Angelou: April 4, 1928- May 28, 2014 (#11)

Here I am, on a quest for self-betterment for about 16 years.  Wow, that’s a long time and it seems like yesterday rather than over a decade.  But, I then think about where I started versus where I am now; it feels like many lives ago.  Who I once was, is a stranger to me and yet, there’s a nagging familiarity. 

Mindfulness (#10)

I think it’s important to address one simple reality of my blogs.  The reason that I’m so good at calling a spade a spade, is because I’ve been that spade.  When a friend mentioned that she was a repeat offender, a phrase taken from “the God Pile,” I felt awful because I too have been a repeat offender, an energy sucker and worst of all, a drama Queen.  I’m not above reproach. 

Inevitably Unfair (#9)

While sitting at Starbucks one day, my mind drifts to my sister.  It’s a quiet moment where I feel nothing but this overpowering sensation of empathy for her.  Hushed tears begin to roll down my cheeks.  Over the last 6 months, our mom’s cancer has been extremely difficult on all of us, yet it’s become clear exactly how much more difficult this is for my sister.  Whereas I had a decade to flop around like a fish out of water in regards to my dysfunctional self, my sister has had no such luxury.  Let me explain… 

Meditation, One Size Does Not Fit All (#8)

You know that you have OCD when you make 8 edits after already posting your blog.  Yep, that’s me.  Some people call it perfectionism, but that’s not what I would call it.  See, my need for perfectionism died at a young age due to my impulsive sloppiness.  I learned long ago to accept that “my perfect” was simply doing my best.  So, why the ridiculous amount of edits?